Depression and Egg Sandwiches

Hello friends! How is it hangin'. My dad just told me about his confusion as to why that is a commonly used phrase because in his day it meant something totally different than today's meaning. I hope all is well in your world. Me? Not so much. Last week was quite literally one of the worst weeks of my life (that I can remember).

Last Monday, I met with my "case manager" (a.k.a. therapist), and he told me my treatment plan, which contained some devastating news. First, it said my estimated length of stay in PHP: 2.5.-3.5 months. That's May. Last year, I was in this program for 2 weeks. Okay, I can handle that. It's just where I'm at in my illness and it's where God wants me; I can handle that. And then the real blow came….my weight range. And it was not what I was hoping/praying for. It was way higher. It wasn't where it was last year when I was in the program; I would have been okay with that. No, it was a weight that I am just not okay with. I was completely happy and content with my weight last year. Why do they have to change it? Are they trying to make me hate myself for the rest of my life? Do they know that I will never accept myself at that weight? Do they know I will forever be putting on a happy face, though on the inside I can't stand who I am or what I look like? Maybe they do, but they don't care. It's still my weight range. They aren't going to change it. Great. So after that session, I left feeling completely defeated, apathetic, sad, and about to have a nervous break down.

On the same day, I was meeting my best friend for coffee at one of the cool coffee shops in Columbus. She was risking her poor little Solara that doesn't run all that great just to meet me for coffee. What a gal. The same night, the fam and I were going to get Chipotle for dinner. Now, I knew going into treatment that I would have to weight restore, so I made a list of restaurants/foods I wanted to eat that I'm usually too afraid to eat. Last year, I ate all of my fear foods with no anxiety because I knew how much I was going to weigh when I was done, and it was a number I was comfortable with, so I didn't care. This year is completely different though. I had so much anxiety before I left treatment to go to the coffee shop. "What do I get at the coffee shop and then Chipotle to meet my meal plan and not go over, but still challenge myself by eating a fear food?" I talked with my dietician about it before I left. She vaguely told me what I could get at both, but it wasn't really what I wanted. I got in my car and started crying. I called my dad because I just needed to talk to someone. I had found out my weight range (which killed me), and I was terrified to get a mocha and a burrito on the same day. He listened, and then I left for the coffee shop. I also texted my mom and told her I couldn't go to Chipotle because thinking about having two challenge foods in one night borderline gave me a nervous breakdown. At the coffee shop, I did end up ordering the scary mocha I wanted to try…it was terrible. And not just "eating disorder" terrible, it was one of the worst coffee beverages I've ever had in my life. I made my friend try it too, and she agreed. So I had them change it to an iced coffee…which was also not great, but it had virtually no calories, so my anxiety decreased. I texted my mom back and told her we could go to Chipotle because I had "calories to spare." It was so good talking to my friend. I needed it since I was falling apart inside. She didn't understand exactly what I was going through, but she could empathize/sympathize. She didn't say anything, and I didn't need her to. I just needed someone to listen, because there is no way I can change what is going to happen but I can't make the feelings go away and I just need someone to hear me vent. So, though the coffee sucked, the time with her was grand.

Later that night, I was on the verge of tears all night. We didn't end up going to Chipotle because the whole reason we were going was to use a coupon, but it was invalid when I checked it, so we just didn't go. My mom took me to Walmart, and then on the way home, she made a comment that wasn't necessarily bad, but it was just enough to send me over the edge. I broke down. I hid my face as I ugly cried. I got myself composed, ate dinner, took a shower, then later as I sat with my dad watching TV, I thought of how much weight I was going to gain, and I had a nervous breakdown. I cried for a good 1/2 hour, and he just sat there trying to comfort me. Now, I know what you're probably thinking: "Zoe, it's just weight. These thoughts are just your eating disorder." Well, that may be. But here is where I don't believe that 100%: I was overweight as a kid (see last blog post to learn more about that), and I HATED, LOATHED, ABHORED myself because of the way I looked. Looking back now, I first became depressed when I was in 6th grade because of the way I looked. Until I lost the weight when I was a freshman in high school, I was a fraud. I put on a happy face every day so people wouldn't know that I was dying on the inside. I had to put on a tough exterior so no one could know that I was vulnerable on top of being fat. My problem with the weight they want me to be is that I know when I'm at that weight, I will hate myself again. I will forever be faking my happiness because I can't stand my appearance, and I can't go back to that. It was miserable. So, there was the reason for my breakdown.

The next morning, I went out  to breakfast with my best friend who is basically my brother at a place I've been to once before in Columbus. I told him that I lost it the night before, and it was again good to talk to someone about how I was feeling. I ate my breakfast in literally 5 minutes (I was anxious about it, and I've realized that when I have anxiety about eating, I eat really fast to get it over with). After I met him, I did a couple little things around Columbus, and I was able to distract myself from the weight conundrum. Then I got to treatment, and BAM hit with the feels. I became incredibly depressed and just plain down, which lasted all day. I skipped bible study that night because I didn't want to see anyone or let anyone in. I went home and just sat on my couch staring into space, not really thinking about anything but how miserable I was. I knew God was right there with me; I could feel Him. But I was pissed at Him. As I prayed that night, I quite honestly said "f**k you" to God. I knew He wasn't "making" this happen to punish me, or for his sick pleasure. But why is He  making me go through this? Doesn't He know that I would do anything for Him BUT this? MY weight is the one thing I have, and He was going to make me give it up? I was pissed at the circumstance, to say the least. Things were like that the rest of the week. On Friday, I met with my case manager again, and I told him what had gone on that week. We explored the topic of how depressed I was, and it hit me: I'm depressed.

I was officially diagnosed with depression when I was a freshman. Throughout high school, I never noticed being depressed. I never wanted to hang out with people or go out or have sleepovers like I did in middle school before I was diagnosed with depression and anorexia, but I never really felt super down, like depressed people are supposed to feel. When I went to college, I got better and mor excited to be around people and do things.  As time went on, though, I never wanted to do things with people for very long. When I entered treatment, I was afraid to go out with people for very long because (my excuse was) I would have to eat and I didn't want to in front of them. Looking back, that was an excuse for not really wanting to be around people. Last year in treatment, especially Summer, I was doing some things with my friends, but I would only go out for coffee with them, or go on a trip to some restaurant in Columbus. I never had any desire to go out at night, or hang out at their houses with them. I wanted to be in and out  as soon as possible so I could be by myself at home. When I got back to Lee this past Fall semester, things were the same. When I got home in October, things were the same. As my case manager and I explored this, I realized: I've never gotten over being depressed. That's why I never want to be a "normal" college age kid and go out and have fun with people my age. Hm, what a revelation. We also explored my identity and the fact that for 8 freaking years, the only identity I've had is being the "skinny girl" or "the girl with the eating disorder." Before my eating disorder, my identity was in being the "funny fat kid." And now that I can't restrict or do my eating disorder behaviors, I don't know who I am. I KNOW I'm supposed to be a child of God, and I'm supposed to put my identity in Christ alone, but I don't FEEL that in my heart. Where is the disconnect? I think this is something that all Christians battle: putting 100% of their identity in Christ. We come to know ourselves as something we have, something we can contribute to society, or something we are good at, but it is a real struggle to honestly and whole-heartedly put our identity in Christ.

This past weekend wasn't a good one. On Saturday, I had breakfast and then had nothing to do. So, I exercised in secret for an hour and a half while no one was around. I'm not supposed to do any exercise at this level of treatment. I also skipped 2 snacks, almost all of my exchanges at lunch,  and some at dinner. At church that night, I don't know why, but I was crawling out of my skin and dying to literally run out. The next day, I skipped exchanges at breakfast, went to work from 10-4 where I skipped a snack and lunch, and then I skipped exchanges at dinner. Again, at work I felt like I was crawling out of my skin and dying to run away. Two of my biggest loves and passions (church and River Road) I wanted to run away from because I couldn't stand being there. I told my dad and he thinks I'm under demonic oppression, which I could totally see. The thing about all of these behaviors and actions that I did this  weekend is I just don't care. I don't care if I miss a meal. I don't care if I exercise when I'm not supposed to. I don't care who this hurts. I don't care how this hurts my body. I just don't care. I feel no conviction when I do  these things. None at all. And that's not okay…but I just don't care.  That's depression. This is what it looks like. People  often ask "did the eating disorder cause the depression or did the depression cause the eating disorder?" For years , I thought my eating disorder caused my depression, but after this week, I realize that my depression probably caused my eating disorder. I can use eating disorder behaviors to quiet and numb out my depression. That's why I restricted and exercised over the weekend: because it distracts me from how depressed I am. How about that?

Yesterday and today have been better. Yesterday, my best friend met me in Columbus again. We got  coffee another coffee shop, and my latte sucked again (Mondays are apparently not my day for lattes). We walked down High St. (my favorite thing in the whole world to do), and the sun was shining bright as I told her about my past week and my depression. Today, I don't have to go to treatment until noon, so I came to Northstar Café for breakfast by myself. I got an egg sandwich and coffee; It was good, but it came on a biscuit, and I really dislike biscuits. I also really dislike spending $13  on mediocre breakfast, BUT the atmosphere here is super chill and I would do it again in a heartbeat. I spent some time in the Bible, and am now writing this blog  post. I'm also about to pee my pants, but I digress. Going out to breakfast and just sitting around drinking coffee, being with God is my favorite thing in the whole world (apart from walking on High street). I ate my breakfast in 10 minutes as opposed to 5 because I wasn't as anxious. Today, I feel peaceful and content. This past week, I realized that me and my eating disorder are two completely different entities, and my eating disorder voice is overpowering both my and God's voice. I've given control over to my eating disorder and I basically listen to everything it says to do. My eating disorder has been telling me to feel guilty, depressed, and to do behaviors. Not today though. Today I feel good. I'm still terrified to gain weight, but I try not to think about it. The "me" part of me is slightly excited to gain weight. I'm hoping to finally look like a woman my age (I'm really praying for the weight to distribute evenly, and most importantly, for boobies!). I also think I'm going to go to OSU instead of Columbus State. When I'm in my eating disorder, I don't want to push myself or do what I really  want to do. I think it would be better for me, and I think God wants me to (at least I hope He does) get  4 year degree and go on to get my masters in Dietetics and Nutrition. My plan (MY plan) for now is to go to OSU-Newark  to finish my gen-eds while living at home and working at River Road, which should also give me enough time to be in recovery for some time. When I'm done with that I will move up to Columbus and finish my degree at main campus. I will live on my own, use my own money, and finally be an adult. The hope in all of this is that I'm "recovered enough" to be able to  live on my own. That's another big reason why I'm slightly excited to  recover.  All the while, my eating disorder is pissed and scared and telling me I need to be to, and that I need to fight back. I usually fall into what my eating disorder wants me to do (hence why I restrict, and why I can't get myself  to eat 100% of my meal plan on my own). But I also realize that that's just where I'm at in recovery, and why I'm anticipated to be in PHP for 2.5-3.5  months.  I have time to fight my eating disorder, begin to truly heal from my depression, and most importantly find my identity in Christ and Christ alone. I've also resolved to making this time the time to seek the best egg sandwich.  So far, the star has been Panera, which really pains me to say, so I have to continue with my quest.

Me with my egg sandwich at Northstar Cafe